


i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

by Ephemeral_Joy



Series: A close up of Gilbert's whipped-ness VOL. I [2]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, From who, Idiots in Love, Pining, Secret Crush, WHY FROM GILBERT OF COURSE, gilbert's pov, he's heard lovely things about her, john loves teasing his son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: John Blythe has heard many, lovely things about Anne.From who? Why, from Gilbert of course!





	i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Giving you more of John as he was a very interesting character. i hope he'll get metioned at least once in s2.  
> Also I got my parents addicted to awae so I'm STARTING 2018 STRONG! Have you dragged someone into this fandom as well? 
> 
> Edited/not beta-ed/title from a poem of E.E. Cummings

Gilbert Blythe walked home with fast, controlled steps. The sooner he’d be home to care for his father, the better. He’d been worried all day. What if he got a stroke, or caught another disease or– Gilbert shook his head. Don’t think about it. Just focus on different things, like – Gilbert sought out his answers in the looming trees and the lush greenery – like Anne. She was odd, but he kind of liked it. Her actions made his mind waver from his coughing dad whose face began to turn grey.  

The redheaded girl was an absolute enigma to him. He never met someone who hit people with slates with so much fervour, or someone who’d go against the teacher and walk out of the classroom, head raised with dignity. Yet she also read poetry as if it was of her own making, the words making her entire body quiver with the intensity of the story.  
Anne was interesting, he concluded, stepping onto his porch.

He was greeted with silence upon entering his household. Gilbert sighed, momentarily remembering how his father’s strong voice used to vibrate throughout the home, filling the rooms with warmth. He faintly remembered how his brothers looked, just the contours. All dark curls and fair skinned, different lengths. Alexander, the tallest and oldest, and Benjamin, the youngest and smallest. He briefly wondered how they were doing, but then realised he wasn’t even sure there was a heaven to begin with. Gilbert was still confused about that.

He shrugged of his jacket and hat, and entered the make-shift bedroom they made for his father. He’d gotten too weak to ascend the stairs as of late. He had protested in the beginning, but Gilbert was convincing and had good arguments to back him up. Eventually, John had obliged.

‘Hey dad.’  
‘Hello son. How was school?’, he burbled, nose running and face ghastly pale. Gilbert pursed his lips: his father looked worse since that morning.  
‘Uh – good.’  
Miss Kincannon, the stuffy nurse, entered the room. ‘Oh, Gilbert. You’re home,’ she gestured to the tea pot in her hand, ‘I’ll grab a cup for you too.’  
‘Thank you,’ he smiled, focusing back on his father as she left. He heard her rumbling in the kitchen.  
‘Come on, boy – tell me more. You’re my eyes now that I’m glued to this bed,’ John teased, patting the chair next to said bed.

‘Well – thank you, miss Kincannon – uh… they were happy to have me back. Asked a lot of questions about the Rocky Mountains and Alberta…’.  
‘Ah,’ his father sighed, taking a sip of his tea, ‘I miss it already.’  
Gilbert sighed, eyeing his father. He didn’t want to think of it, but how could he not when his father had completely fallen apart, a ghost of the vibrant man he once was, a man Gilbert knew he was on the inside of the wrinkled skin. The adventurer. Gilbert secretly hoped that one day he’d do the same. Visit the UK, France, Turkey, India! He shook his head.  
‘There’s also a new student.’  
John perked up, raising his withering eyebrows. ‘A new child in Avonlea? Never thought I’d see the day! How is he?’  
Gilbert smiled, ‘ _She_ is very interesting. She was this bright, red hair and a loud voice.’  
John smirked, ‘That goes hand in hand of course.’  
‘The Cuthbert’s adopted her.’  
‘Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert?!’, he exclaimed, tea slipping of the rim of the cup. He didn’t seem bothered by it, ‘but why?’  
Gilbert shrugged, ‘I didn’t ask.’  
John stayed silent for a moment, frowning. Gilbert wondered if he said something wrong. Or had it something to do with The Cuthbert’s? Were they bad people, perhaps? He has never spoken to them, as they live quite secluded from the rest of town. Involuntarily, he grimaced. Anne would be okay there, right?

‘What else happened today?’, he wheezed, dabbing the snot under his nose away with an old handkerchief.  
‘Uh,’ Gilbert shook his head, clearing his thoughts, ‘We did math,’ where he pulled a stunt he wasn’t fond of. She sure was mad.  
‘and we read a few poems,’ where she read the words as if every syllable was a significant star in the sky that deserved to be savoured. He blushed. Shit.

His father noticed his flushed face. ‘What’s wrong? Why’re you -,’ he paused, eyes scanning over his face. Gilbert hoped he gave nothing away. He didn’t exactly know what he’d give away, but he knew it had to do with Anne.  
It wasn’t like he liked her, romantically. But she was interesting. And different. A breathe of fresh air from the dullness that was Avonlea, the dusty village.

He did like her red hair though. Never in his fourteen years of living had he seen such vibrant coloured hair that wasn’t a wig. (And he knew her hair wasn’t a wig; he pulled her braids after all.)  
Or how she wasn’t afraid to express herself wholeheartedly, not hiding behind a secretive smile or a clique of girls. He liked that too. Perhaps also her eyes, having seen them up close when they stood face to face in the threshold of the school. The first time she grinned and her eyes went alight. Yeah. He liked her eyes.    

John grinned, ‘Do you fancy someone?’  
Blinking hard, Gilbert resurfaced from his mess of thoughts. He furrowed his brows, ‘What?’  
‘Do you fancy someone?’, his father repeated, baring his teeth excitedly. Before Gilbert could reply, he continued: ‘Is it the redheaded girl?’  
‘Dad,’ Gilbert interrupted, ‘I don’t fancy anyone. I remembered something, well, embarrassing that happened at school.’  
John leaned forward, gleam in his eye. ‘What happened?’  
‘Well, she – the redheaded girl, Anne – hit me with her slate.’  
John guffawed, hand slapping against Gilbert’s knee. Gilbert had a wobbly smile on his face, glad to see his father happy but annoyed as he recalled the moment. What a stupid thing of him to do.  
‘Of course Marilla would adopt her,’ John murmured. Gilbert frowned, but decided to let that slide. ‘What did you do?’  
‘I uh,’ Gilbert scratched his curls. His dad would never let him live this down.  
‘I pulled her braids because she was ignoring me.’  
‘Oh son.’  
‘Don’t say I fancy her.’  
‘Okay. I won’t say it. Doesn’t mean I won’t think it.’

*

Anne wasn’t at school today, or the following days after that. It _shouldn’t_ affect Gilbert, but it did. After only one day, she has left an expression on him and it couldn’t be erased. Nor did he want it to. It was more dull at school without her. After getting a quick taste of what it was like to have competition, he craved for it every day. No one held any interest to the material except for him. The seat next to Diana felt cold, whereas before it was just vacant. Normal.

_God, what was Anne doing to me?_

He absentmindedly shook his head, taking notes from the workbook on his lap. His father coughed, making him look up.  
‘Can I do something for you?’  
‘No, no – keep your nose in that book,’ John coughed. Gilbert ignored how sickly the gurgling sounded.  
‘You just seem out of it. Are you getting sick?’  
‘No,’ Gilbert quickly reassured, slapping the book shut, ‘I just feel… guilty. I guess. Anne hasn’t come back to school since the slate and I feel like it’s my fault.’  
John frowned, ‘Have you apologised?’  
‘Yeah… kind of.’  
‘If she loves learning, she’ll come back. Does she?’  
‘Yeah,’ a small smile tugged at his lips, ‘she does. I already know she’s going to be competition.’  
‘Competing against a girl,’ he mumbled thoughtfully, scratching his chin, ‘I like that.’  
‘Yeah,’ he trailed of, opening his book again. It also pissed Billy off, which was nice. He couldn’t stand the boy. Anne on the other hand.

*

Gilbert ran back home, rain sprinkling onto his face in an unpleasant manner, a smile etched on his face. He couldn’t believe it.  

She’s back, she’s back, she’s back.

(He didn’t know exactly what feeling overcame him when he had felt a gust of wind tickling his neck. Instinctively, he had turned around to see who the tardy student was. It was Anne. His lips had parted slightly at the sight of her. The last time he’d seen her was at the renovation of Ruby’s house. Before that she was covered in ashes. Now here she stood, red hair and all.  
She cautious smile made his heart hammer faster than usual. She was back. He had his competition back. He had turned back to the blackboard, smiling to himself.)

Perhaps the fire gave her a little push. Her intelligence saved the house from completely breaking down, as well as a few of the Gillis’ their possessions. He recalled the firefighters saying they were able to save expensive jewellery and a sturdy Bible. He wasn’t sure, as he had been staring at Anne chuckling with the little boy next to her.

‘Goodbye miss Kincannon!’, he said, passing the lady on his way inside. The woman smiled, tipping her umbrella as a way of greeting.

‘Hey Dad-‘, Gilbert frowned. His father wasn’t in bed. ‘Dad?’, he repeated, an octave higher and a slight quiver in her tone.  
‘In the kitchen,’ the man wheezed. He hurried himself, dropping his satchel on the stairs.  
‘Dad, why are you out of bed?’, he asked, concerned and grasped John’s elbow. The man rolled his eyes.  
‘Being cooped up in bed is not good for the spirit, son. I may be old and sick but,’ he raised his hands dismissively, pushing Gilbert’s hands away. The boy pursed his lips.  
‘Do I need to make tea?’  
‘Just had a cup,’ he moved past Gilbert, back to the bedroom, ‘tell me about your day.’  
Being part of a routine, John patted the seat next to him, urging Gilbert to sit whilst he unpacked his books to make homework. It was a pleasant routine. Gilbert smiled.

‘Well, Anne is back!’, he blurted, making sure his face didn’t heat up.     

John looked smug. ‘That’s great, Gilbert. Wasn’t she also the one that um –,’ he drummed his fingers on his chin, ‘saved the home of Robert Gillis?’  
‘Yeah,’ he whispered, looking down. He remembered as clear as day her shadow flying through the corridor of the home as he was dunking water in Ruby Gillis’ bedroom. The root that clung onto her red hair, her determined look. Never in his life did he think a girl would risk her life, or would even know this kind of information. He, admittedly, didn’t know about the oxygen too.  
Gilbert was in awe with her. He had wanted to congratulate her but for some reason, she still wasn’t talking to him. He _still_ didn’t know why either. Gilbert involuntarily shut his eyes at the memory of her completely ignoring him at the construction site. That was embarrassing.

‘And?’

‘Oh, she already challenged me,’ he nodded, ‘with geography and English – I’m still better in geometry though.’  
John chuckled, ‘I wasn’t saying to continue about that Anne of yours, but keep going.’  
Oh God. Gilbert ruffled his curls, his father really knew how to push his buttons. _Your Anne_. He secretly did like the sound of that.  
Gilbert huffed, thinking bitterly how his dad would probably die mid-laugh because of one of his misadventures.  
But he couldn’t help it, school became interesting because of her. It made him want to work harder for what he wanted, her lust for curiosity pulling him forward as well. He could see her becoming a doctor, or teacher. (Something he would never talk about, definitely not amongst Billy. He’d throw a fit suited to a four year old.)

‘Gilbert?’

He could imagine them going to university together. Redmond College, for example. Or Queen’s Academy. The two them, studious and bright, conquering the field they’re studying for.  
Yeah, he could see it.

‘Gilbert.’  
‘Hm?’, he looked up, pensive look remaining on his face.  
‘I asked what your homework is. Seems like a big book.’  
‘Oh,’ he stared down at it, fingering the yellowed pages. There was a tea stain in the corner. ‘Mathematics. Like I said, we did geometry. The equations are getting quite difficult,’ Gilbert grinned. He liked wracking him brain over them.  
‘Don’t glue your nose in the book, boy. Don’t want to lose ya to some numbers. When you’re done, could you read some Whitman for me?’  
‘”Song of the open road”?’  
‘Of course.’

*

‘P E N I T E N T.’

Gilbert was intelligent, he knew that. He was tactful, street and book smart. He travelled Canada and parts of the United States. He had progressive ideas about how the world should be, and he was glad about that.

And yet,

He couldn’t do anything to stop himself from staring at the redhaired girl that was casted in a sunlit glow. Her eyes shone like sapphires which he would love to see up close.

She caught his gaze, a cautious smile gracing her lips.

‘Engagement.’

‘E N G A G M-‘

‘That is incorrect.’

He couldn’t care. He really couldn’t care. Anne smiled at him. because of her victory, but she smiled at him. He was for once at the receiving end of a tentative smile, almost like secret only the two of them shared. He’d seen her guffaw and giggle, but this was intimate, just for him. He failed to supress his foolish grin.

After watching her retreat to her seat, he had a revelation. It wasn’t overwhelming or shocking, really. His father predicted it back in September.

He liked her.

 

‘We did a spelling bee at the end of the day,’ Gilbert told after a sip of tea, careful not to spill on the poetry book he had borrowed from mister Philips.  
‘Oh, what did you need to spell?’  
‘Difficult words,’ he explained, ‘like “haughty” or “callous”.’  
John’s eyes crinkled. ‘And you won, I assume?’  
‘Uh no,’ and here they were, yet again talking about Anne, ‘Anne did.’  
His father guffawed, ‘She’s going to ruin you, son. Aren’t you, like,’ he shrugged, ‘the smartest one in class?’  
Gilbert smiled, ‘Yeah, but she’s almost on equal level, I think.’  
John coughed, this time a smatter of blood following with. Gilbert saw it landing on the pristine white blanket and immediately rose from his chair.  
‘Dad!’  
‘It’s nothing, Gilbert.’  
But it _was_ something. He wasn’t getting any better. Gilbert pursed his lips, mentally hitting himself for getting distracted. Why hasn’t he noticed how ill he was looking? More so than usual.  
‘It is, dad,’ Gilbert whispered, clasping his father’s hand with his. Panic rose from a dark corner in his brain, that he purposefully had hid to keep going on with life. But now… he shook his head. His father couldn’t die. He was fourteen, edging to fifteen. He wasn’t a man yet, he didn’t know how to live without him.

‘Don’t worry about me, Gilbert. Please.’  
‘Don’t say that. Miss Kincannon may be your caretaker but I am family. Of course I worry,’ Gilbert exclaimed indignantly, clenching his fists. Slowly, he inhaled. He had to clear his head.

‘I’m going to work a bit on the tools in the shed. Stay in bed,’ he instructed, making sure his voice held no room for negotiation. John nodded.

 

The faint, scared yell of Kincannon made him run back to the house.

*

A knock was heard on the door, followed by a strong voice calling: ‘Gilbert!’  
John frowned. Someone for Gilbert. He knew the boy was out back, chopping wood he presumed. It was getting colder every day. He felt it creep in his bones, making him more stiff. He hardly walked anymore. Oh well.

The person yelled again.

If he was going to die in bed with his son by his side, what more could he ask for? The person knocked again. He sighed. Kincannon wasn’t present and Gilbert didn’t hear the person, he assumed. Slowly, he placed his feet on the ground, heaving gravely. The hardest task was standing up.

‘You can do it, John. You swam with sharks for God’s sake.’

Eventually, he stood up, staggered back and forth, grasped the stool and waggled towards the front door. He felt dizzy. The last time he stood on his feet was… a week ago? Maybe even more? He couldn’t recall.

‘Finally,’ the person muttered as he opened the door. He was hit with a gust of cold, biting wind. It stung his lungs. God, is this what Gilbert had to go through every day?

‘Sorry to make you wait,’ he apologised, taking the girl in. She looked familiar, although he hadn’t seen anyone but Gilbert, Kincannon and Rachel Lynde (She felt like it was her duty to keep him in the loop) since he got back. 

The girl stared at him wordlessly. He grimaced. He must look awful.

‘Gilbert,’ he gulped, ‘is out back chopping wood.’  
His eyes zeroed in on the snow coated braids. They were… red. A vibrant red. Was she…?  
‘What wonderful red hair…’, No, it couldn’t be. How did the girl Gilbert talked about every single day end up on their porch? Perhaps Gilbert hadn’t told him everything. Maybe him and her talked without him noticing.  
‘You’re the Cuthbert’s new charge, aren’t you?’  
She looked down, seeming sullen. It must’ve been a long walk. If Gilbert was correct, she was usually lively.  
‘Yes.’  
He grinned. It was her.  
‘I’ve heard nice things about you,’ he chuckled, suddenly feeling a rush of “what-ifs”  coursing in his brain. It happened quite a lot recently, with death looming over him like a shadow and all that.  
‘And how is Marilla? Still feisty, I hope?’, he hoped she was alright. He hoped his teenage love still held her head high.  
Anne fidgeted, seemingly not knowing what to say. He pretended she said yes. If Marilla wasn’t alright, he’d need to lay down.

‘Dad, what are you doing?!’, Gilbert yelled, coming from the back. John grinned, briefly remembering how his father used to tease him with girls.  
‘You shouldn’t be walking.’  
John huffed, sharing a look with a startled Anne, ‘My son worries too much.’ But to ease Gilbert’s mind, he leaned on his shoulder. If his son felt like he was helping, then he’d let him.  
‘It seems this young lady has urgent business with you. I’ll go inside now.’ Gilbert chased after his trudge, seeming alarmed. John wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the prospect of being alone with Anne.  
‘No, I… I’ll go on my own,’ he patted Gilbert’s chest, smiling suggestively. Gilbert narrowed his eyes.  
‘Thank you, son,’ he turned to Anne, ‘It was nice to meet you. Give my kind regards to Marilla.’  
‘I will,’ her voice was soft, slightly raised for him to hear as he went back to his isolated bedroom, ‘Of course, mister Blythe.’

‘Those for me?’, he heard Gilbert’s voice as a whisper. He strained his ears. Nothing interesting ever happened here. This was the first exciting moment for the Blythe household in months!  
‘Well, uh…’, come on, son, ‘It’s kind of you to bring them by.’

John chuckled. If it was him and Marilla decades ago, he’d make a joke. He was known around Avonlea back then as a flirt, he reminisced nostalgically.

‘Mister Philips doesn’t want you falling behind,’ she replied.  
‘I don’t either.’

The man huffed. This conversation was going nowhere. Suddenly he realised that he wasn’t even sure Gilbert liked this girl or not.

‘If you’re gonna beat me in class,’ John’s bushy brows rose at the teasing tone in his son’s voice. _There we go_. ‘I want you to do it fair and square.’  
Anne’s firm voice answered. ‘Yes. Exactly.’ He wondered why she seemed so cold towards him. Was it still because of the – he furrowed his brows – slate incident?  
‘Um… thank you. I’ll see you.’  
Anne didn’t answer anymore. At least he didn’t hear anything. Maybe she whispered something. The floor creaked as Gilbert closed the door again, advancing towards his bedroom.

John grinned devilishly. ‘The infamous Anne has made an appearance.’  
Gilbert puffed, ignoring the teasing comment he made and placing the books he received on the nightstand.  
‘Homework?’  
‘Yeah.’  
‘She’s pretty.’  
‘I know.’

John scrutinised his son. He didn’t even try to deflect it. He didn’t understand teenagers anymore, such peculiar people nowadays.

Gilbert locked gaze with his father.  
‘I care about her,’ he said solemnly. John stared at the pile of books. If the girl walked a mile or two just to give the books, she must too.     
‘Good. You should,’ he coughed, ‘Seems like a special girl.’

He picked up one of the books, reading the back.  
‘Yeah… she is.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> You can scream at me on my Tumblr: http://stydiahasconquered.tumblr.com/


End file.
